


Dying Breeed Of Magic

by quite_probably_lying



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:31:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quite_probably_lying/pseuds/quite_probably_lying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wood elves belong among trees, not the towering constructs of a city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying Breeed Of Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparxwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/gifts).



> Just a (very) short piece I wrote that started out as an english controlled assessment.
> 
> (my teacher thought I was writing about Legolas...)
> 
> Gift for Sparxflame for getting my intrest in this AU (go check out their work if you want something well writen)

To feel at one with your surroundings is a shot of pure bliss and adrenalin. However, to be out of tune with every spark of energy you come across makes everything you do feel out of place.

He was the epitome of beauty. The living incarnation of elegance. A creature made of shining energy, who is hopelessly lost in the city. The house in which he lives still claims the same patch of ground as the one he was born and grew up in. Long gone were the ancient trees that seemed to never stop growing, removed many years before to make room for the twisting constructs of meal and machine.

Being immortal had few benefits, watching ones people and home be disappear did not fit into that category. Buildings rose out of the ground like living shards of glass, yet they held none of the energy and power that his forest home once did.

Not for him, anyway.

Wood elves were a dying race. Few still lived who had true elven blood pumping through their veins, or the ability to talk to Mother Nature herself. How cruel a fate for the elven prince, to survive and have to see all those who loyally served him fade away.

Still, every new twist in the nature of magic allowed a new race to be created. As his race slowly disappears from existence to become history then myth, a new race leaps into the empty space with all the energy and joy of a young child.

Watching his forests evolve into this concrete slab of life allowed him to watch as they burst onto the scene. Technomancers, he had called them and the name stuck.

Instead of speaking with plants, these youngsters would traverse the spider’s web of wires lining the city. While he may laugh like a songbird sings, they mimic the happy chime of a laptop starting up. And although he may smile when he sees them glowing with borrowed neon from nearby signs, they only see him when they sense the presence of something that doesn’t belong.

It is a lonely fate to feel out of place in the city that has been built up around you.


End file.
